There are seasons when the world feels heavier than we can carry.
When headlines blur, when the air itself seems charged with tension, I find myself reaching for shapes that feel steady. Lately, that shape has been the shield.
Across time and culture, the shield has carried more meaning than its surface suggests. It has been both weapon and witness, an emblem of courage, faith, and identity. It’s something we hold between ourselves and whatever threatens to undo us, whether that danger comes from outside or within.
The Shield as Protector
At its most basic, the shield is about protection.
Ancient texts called it divine. “I am your shield,” said God to Abram in Genesis, a promise of safety that reached beyond the physical. Norse mythology spoke of Svalinn, the heavenly shield that stood between Earth and the burning sun. The Apostle Paul wrote about the shield of faith, meant to extinguish every flaming arrow of doubt or malice.
I think of all the unseen shields women have carried — boundaries, rituals, silence, prayer, community. Ways of saying no more, or not now, or simply not this time. The shield isn’t always about war. Sometimes, it’s the quiet insistence on rest.
When I press copper between antique dies, I feel that instinct made visible. The act itself is protective — reclaiming old strength and giving it new form.
The Shield as Identity
In every culture, shields told stories.
They were painted, engraved, or embossed with symbols of lineage and belonging — a family crest, an animal spirit, a pattern passed through generations. To carry one was to declare: This is who I am. These are my people. This is what I stand for.
In Europe, heraldic shields defined status and alliances. In Indigenous and Asian traditions, shields carried both spiritual and ancestral meaning. They were never just tools; they were language, legacy, and art.
That idea resonates deeply in jewelry. When I began shaping my own shield forms in copper and silver, I realized they were less about defense and more about declaration. They said: I have survived this. I know my worth. I remember who I am.
Each curve and rivet became a small act of authorship — I am a woman writing her own coat of arms.
The Shield as Divine and Cosmic Artifact
Mythology, as always, expands the metaphor.
The Shield of Achilles, forged by Hephaestus, wasn’t merely armor; it was a vision of the world — stars and cities, war and peace, oceans and fields — a reminder that we hold all of it inside us: conflict and creation, darkness and dawn.
Athena’s shield, the Aegis, carried the face of Medusa, not to glorify violence but to remind us that power can be terrifying when wielded wisely. The Valkyries’ shields were said to reflect the aurora borealis, their light bright enough to turn the night sky into something sacred.
These stories make me think about the energy of the materials themselves.
Copper, with its warmth and conductivity, feels like a vessel for human energy — grounding, connecting, alive. Silver reflects light, clarifying and cooling. Together, they create balance: heat and stillness, action and reflection.
On the left, a Roman Scutum, used by Legionaries at the height of the Roman Empire. On the right, a kite shaped shield used by the Knights Templar, a Catholic military order founded in the 12th century.
The Shield for the Times We’re In
There’s no denying the air feels heavy again — politically, socially, spiritually. It’s tempting to armor up, to withdraw. But what if protection could look like presence?
When I’m kicking out tiny shields at my ancient kick press (that’s a story for another day), I think about that. The repetition of the strike, the rhythm of pressure and release — it’s not about hiding. It’s about grounding. Announcing a steady presence.
At the wooden doming block, the metal curves gently — not to block life, but to hold it with intention. To know what we can and can’t do, and to say yes or no when we mean it. To hold on to something that reminds us who we are when the world insists otherwise. To build not just walls and roofs, but communities, villages, and maybe even whole cities of care.
Maybe that’s the modern shield: a reminder that strength and softness coexist. That we can meet the world, even the chaotic parts, with presence and boundaries intact.
Wearing a Shield
The finished earrings — three variations in copper with silver earwires and forged-in-place silver details — feel ancient and current all at once. The textures range from hammered to raw silk to tiny vinework, each one patinated, polished, and protected. They catch light differently depending on how you move, turning the copper into dancing firelight.
When I hold them in my hand, I think about what we each carry to stay steady. A prayer. A ritual. A community. A deep breath before speaking. Each one, so valuable. Maybe that’s what ties all these shields together through time: not war, but worth. Not hiding, but honoring.
Protection and boundaries don’t have to look like battle. Sometimes, they look beautiful.
Pressed by hand, touched by time — a companion for those days that we keep showing up and showing out.
The collection will be live at this link at 2pm eastern Monday, 11/3/25. The Shield Series
Keep Rising,
Jenna, Witness and Maker